


like scattered ashes

by chaoticbullshit



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Campaign 2, I'll add tags as I progress, Mighty Nein, lots of looking back and self-loathing, mentions of Astrid and Eodwulf and Trent but not by name (yet)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:28:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24176650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticbullshit/pseuds/chaoticbullshit
Summary: In a way, it did. Bren might as well have died with his parents in the fire that night. The book-hungry, bright-eyed and learned boy was no more.Everything Bren had worked towards in his pursuit of knowledge had not been for nothing; it had been for everything....Caleb has been broken for an eternity, but that's nothing new.
Kudos: 11





	like scattered ashes

**Author's Note:**

> Elven Dirge- I Lament

He hadn’t felt whole in a very long time.  
  
There was something about murdering your parents, destroying your childhood home, and burning the entirety of your life in the name of power. Even after all of that, being torn away from your love, your mentor, your closest friends, and losing eleven years of your life to madness, memories you couldn’t discern from reality, hysteria, and the inability to bear the weight of what you’d done. Any one of these events could lead a person to their end.  
  
And in a way, it did. Bren might as well have died with his parents in the fire that night. The book-hungry, bright-eyed and learned boy was no more.  
  
Everything Bren had worked towards in his pursuit of knowledge had not been for nothing; it had been for everything.  
  
Breaking out of the institution was the only clear plan he’d been able to formulate in his finally clear mind. After he was free and sure he was hidden from the militant eyes who’d turned him in the first place, the road seemed to end. Those years he’d lost scaled back on the magic he’d studied all those years ago. He had no home to return to, no bed to fall back to, no open arms welcoming him back. He wasn’t even sure he knew the way back to his homestead, or if anything even remained. It had been so long, the rubble was probably cleared by now, the ashes of before swept away and scattered.  
  
So he left Bren behind and wandered across the empire, traveling from town to town. He scrounged all he could, stealing food from garbage heaps and windowsills. Even the odd jobs he did were barely enough to keep him afloat. He wasn’t getting by. He made sure he was unrecognizable from the high-ranking student he’d been before. He grew his hair out so that it hung over his eyes and a beard to cover his profile. He wore ratty clothes, smeared dirt on his face, and bandaged his scarred arms in hopes no one would make the connection of his former profession. He also bandaged them so he wouldn’t have to look at himself and see the chair they strapped him into, feel the jagged shards pierce his skin, and weep as he radiated with power, the pain coursing through the academy’s prized testificate.  
  
Every time he got to sleep in a bed felt like a slap in the face to the loved ones he’d mercilessly slain.  
  
He wasn’t sure why, but he eventually caved and bought a new spellbook. He was careful about the magic he learned again, taking it slow with his progress. It still felt wrong, picking up what had ultimately been his demise, but even he knew it was the only way he could defend himself. He was weak and powerless and had returned to this vice that had put him in this situation, and he couldn’t stand it.  
  
The hopelessness followed him everywhere, hung like a dark cloud. He didn’t allow himself any joy. He didn’t deserve it.  
  
The disguises, the aliases, and the amulet he’d stolen kept him hidden from the arcanists he’d run from. They weren’t always enough to keep him out of trouble, though, and he landed behind bars more than he’d like to admit. Despite how fiercely he’d fought to break out of the first prison, he figured he belonged there anyways.  
  
When he was released or when he’d escape, he’d think back to the crystals, the flames, the ire that had once burned within, and continue on, the still-empty husk of who he’d used to be.

**Author's Note:**

> Caleb isn't nearly as sad as he used to be, but I've been resonating with his self-loathing a little bit lately and this was a little cathartic to make.  
> I think I'm going to finish it when I feel more hopeful myself.  
> Wishing you all well ♡


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